Through the Alleys
by Simply-Cath
Summary: Moxley's had people pissed at him. He's had people after him. He's never been hunted like this.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Through the Alleys

AUTHOR: Simply_Cath  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own anyone involved, not making a profit. Names trademarked to WWE, guys own themselves obviously.  
DISTRIBUTION: Get my permission first  
RATING: M  
CONTENT: Violence, bad language, lots of bad language.  
SPOILERS: None  
SUMMARY: Moxley's had people pissed at him. He's had people after him. He's never been hunted like this.  
NOTES: An idea that's been kicking around for a while.

Through the Alleys  
By: Simply_Cath

Jon Moxley tried to open his eyes and boy was that a bad idea. He turned away from the bright, burning light. Was he outside? Was it morning? He lay still and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the after images to fade from his vision.

There were voices above him. He clenched his fingers and tried to focus on the words.

"- pretty serious..."

"Is that really necessary?"

"They'll be here any minute."

A phone rang somewhere behind him. Jon's nails dug into his palms. The footsteps moved away from him, but not far enough for his liking. He turned his head to the right and slowly opened his eyes. They had their backs to him. Three steps and he'd be out the door. Jon closed his eyes and counted down from five. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and bolted for the door. The halls were well lit, too well lit. Jon hissed and lowered his eyes. Someone had thrown their hoodie over a crate. "Finders, keepers," he muttered under his breath, shrugging it on and starting down the hallway. What was that buzzing noise?

Jon pulled the hood up over his head and kept his eyes down. Behind him, he could hear voices getting louder. Footsteps were getting faster.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. A big one.

Gasping, Jon whirled around and shoved his attacker. He broke into a run, his eyes scanning the halls until he spotted a doorway. Anoher set of hands grabbed him, but he got free. Not breaking his stride, he put his hand out in front of him, pushing the heavy glass door open as he found his way outside.

A gust of cold wind slashed at his exposed skin. He could hear a rustle of activity nearby and took off again. The gravel crunched under his feet until it turned into smooth pavement. He looked back over his shoulder and took a deep breath. "Fuck. What the hell?" The wind blew again, cutting through the hoodie, seeping right into his bones. Jon ducked into an alley and leaned against the wall. His breath puffed past his lips, a little fog that dissipated into the night. He hunched his shoulders against the chill and kicked an empty soda can out of the way. The street lamp buzzed from the sidewalk. Like it was talking to him.

Jon poked his head out from the darkness and tried to find a street sign, but his vision blurred. He wiped his eyes and shook his head. Bringing his hands up to his mouth, Moxley blew warm air on to his fingers before pushing them back into his pockets.

The light changed, the shadows got longer. Jon looked up.

Two men were there.

The shorter one spoke first. "What the hell are you doing out here? It's freezing."

Were they talking to him? They stepped closer, in lockstep. "No." Jon drew back and they paused. "Stay away from me."

The second guy piped up this time. "No?"

"What are you, deaf?" Jon spat. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Come on," the first guy said. His voice had grown softer. Jon could barely hear him over the hissing of the lamps. "It's freezing out here; you need to get inside."

Jon jumped back when he felt the shorter guy's gloved hand on his arm. He hadn't seen him move. He hauled off and slugged the dude as hard as he could, catching him off guard and sending him staggering up against a nearby dumpster.

As he moved to press the advantage, Jon suddenly had arms wrapped around him. He wriggled, but it was like there were two iron bands wrapped around his chest. "Fucking let me go, you tatted up twat!" Moxley threw is head back into the guy's chin, then lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the first chunk of flesh he found. He gnashed his teeth until he felt the skin split.

The second he felt some slack, Jon writhed his way free. His feet hit the ground and he bolted, not stopping to look behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

TITLE: Through the Alleys

AUTHOR: Simply_Cath  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own anyone involved, not making a profit. Names trademarked to WWE, guys own themselves obviously.  
DISTRIBUTION: Get my permission first  
RATING: M  
CONTENT: Violence, bad language, lots of bad language.  
SPOILERS: None  
SUMMARY: Moxley's had people pissed at him. He's had people after him. He's never been hunted like this.  
NOTES: An idea that's been kicking around for a while.

Jon ran blindly, until he stopped feeling the cold. His lungs burned. His legs ached. His head, god his head. Licking his lips, Moxley looked around. The street was a little busy. It seemed late. He started to head away from those guys, shoving his hands in his pockets and keeping his head down. Now that he had some time, he started to take stock of the situation. The back of his head throbbed. With fingers that burned from the cold, Jon patted the back of his head. His fingers came away clean.

A police car turned left on to the street. Gasping, Moxely threw himself into the recessed opening of a doorway. The cop car inched passed, lights off, sirens quiet.

Once it disappeared around a corner, Jon started to walk again. The street lights hissed at him, a steady constant drone that buzzed in time with his headache. Bright flashes teased the corners of his eyes. He looked around; was someone taking his picture? Jon drew the hoodie up over his eyes and walked faster.

There was snow on the ground, but not much. It crunched under his feet. He paused at a red light, turning away from a pair of headlights that assaulted his eyes. Moxley backed up a step and looked up. The street sign was huge, but the letters were moving, blurring. He wiped his eyes, but that only made it worse. Cursing under his breath, Jon started across the street, flipping off a driver who braked sharply in front of him.

When he dared to look up again, it was mostly dark. The only source of light came from a gas station with a big convenience store. Jon huddled deeper into the hoodie. His fingers brushed something soft. Blinking, he grasped the item and pulled out a couple of twenties. Jon took off across the street and slipped into the building, sighing.

"Cold enough out there, huh?"

"What?" Jon looked over his shoulder, but there was nobody in the store save for him and the clerk. "Huh? Yeah, whatever." His hands ached. It felt like his blood was unthawing. His fingers felt swollen, heavy and useless.

Moxley took his time browsing the aisles, walking past the cartoony cereal boxes, crappy energy drinks and useless candy. He grabbed the first energy bar that wasn't total garbage and made his way to the front of the store. The kid was young, dark hair, stupid frosted blond tips that reminded him of someone it hurt to think about. Jon tossed the money on to the counter.

The cashier handed him the cigarettes, water and protein bar. He nudged the change over, then paused with his hand covering the coins. "Wait," he lifted his hand and tilted his head to the side, trying to study him from another angle. "Aren't you-?"

"No." Jon snatched the money off the counter and shoved it into the pocket of his pants. "I'm not anyone." He put the hood up over his head and walked out of the store. Just past the gas station there was a phone booth. Jon broke into a run and slammed the flimsy door behind him. The booth reeked of gas and garbage; it was smeared with half-assed graffiti. He ran his hand through his hair, then shoved the quarters into the slot with shaking hands. He jabbed at the numbers and held his breath, then sighed as it started to ring. "Come on, come on, pick up."

"What?"

"Sami?" He murmured.

"Mox! Man, I saw what happened; are you-?"

"You saw what happened tonight?" He gripped the phone tighter. "What happened tonight? I don't know what happened. I don't remember."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. What's going on?"

Jon clenched the fist of his free hand and beat it against his thigh, using the pain to keep himself focused. "I dunno, man. I mean, I - I woke up and there were all these people around and all these lights and it was so bright and I think..." He grabbed his hair, yanking at it until the glassy pain sharpened his thoughts. "I think they slipped me something because these lights are like so fucking loud and they're way too bright and my head is pounding." He took a deep, shaky breath. He wanted to yell and scream, but the words came out in a whisper. It felt like there was a hand wrapped around his throat, a thumbnail digging into his jugular. He hunched over the phone. "I don't know where I am, Sami."

"Oh."

Sami never sounded like that. Sami always talked too loud and didn't say enough and now in that one little word, Jon heard way too much. He swallowed. "Look, I need you to come get me okay. Some serious shit is going on here. I didn't even do nothing and there's these two guys after me and I didn't do anything! I like ... I took this hoodie, okay? Nobody was using it and it was there and it's cold out! I need you to come get me." There was silence on the other end of the phone for a very long time. Jon's heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it would bust through his ribs any second now. "Please."

"Mox," Sami's voice was low and steady like he was trying to talk down a wild dog. "I need you to listen to me, okay?"

He nodded until he realized it wouldn't be seen. "Yeah."

"You need to go back."

Jon planted his hand on the wall of the booth to keep himself upright. "What?"

"You have to trust me on this. You need to go back there. Those guys-"

"No, no, no," Jon shook his head. "Haven't you been listening? They're AFTER me. I didn't even do anything and they're after me and -" He trailed off. A gust of wind blew open one of the doors of the booth, slathering him with cold air. "They got to you."

"What? No, Mox, listen to me, you're-"

"You son of a bitch! What'd they give you huh?" Jon hung up the phone. He wanted to smash it. He wanted to tear the whole thing down, but he couldn't. He dropped to a crouch, with his head down and gripped his hair in both hands.

Someone knocked on the glass three times. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Fuck off," Jon snapped.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Look, I said-" He shot to his feet, hands balled into fists.

It was the them.


	3. Chapter 3

TITLE: Through the Alleys  
AUTHOR: Simply_Cath  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own anyone involved, not making a profit. Names trademarked to WWE, guys own themselves obviously.  
DISTRIBUTION: Get my permission first  
RATING: M  
CONTENT: Violence, bad language, lots of bad language.  
SPOILERS: None  
SUMMARY: Moxley's had people pissed at him. He's had people after him. He's never been hunted like this.  
NOTES: An idea that's been kicking around for a while.

Jon lunged forward. He felt their hands on his arms as he brushed past, and he kept running until he hit another alley. Alleys felt like home.

Their heavy footsteps followed him in and he whirled around, "Leave me alone!"

"You need to calm down, okay?" The shorter guy took a step closer. "Take a deep breath and calm down."

In spite of himself, Jon listened. The alley smelled like shit. He held up a hand and shook his head. "Look, I... I dunno who you guys think I am, but you got the wrong guy, okay?" He put his hand to his chest. "Listen, all right? My name is Jon, okay? Jon Moxley, I dunno who you're looking for, but it's not me, okay?"

"Yeah, it is." The taller guy was quiet, but there was something weird in his voice.

"Why?" Jon screamed. "What the fuck do you want from me? I didn't do nothing! I didn't... What is this it?" Jon wrenched off the hoodie. He threw it at them. "There, okay?! You can have your fucking hoodie back! Nobody was using it! I used to have a jacket. It was a piece of shit, but it was mine and I even wrote my NAME on the back so nobody else would want it, but someone took it, just like EVERYTHING gets taken from me!" He shook his head. "No, no, I'm not taking the fall for this... for whatever this is, so LEAVE ME ALONE!"

He turned away from them and started to run.

The next thing he knew he was on his knees.

They were coming. Half melted snow crunched under their boots.

His hands were soaked and frozen with slush. He started to his feet. His fingers closed around something hard. Jon held his breath. The air around him shifted. Moxley braced. His heart started to pound harder than his head.

He gripped the pipe tighter and shot to his feet, whirling around and slamming the pipe as hard as he could into the shorter guy's side. He hit something hard, then felt the familiar give of breaking bone. The shorter one staggered back into the big guy.

Jon ran again, through the alley until he got out the other side.

He leaned against the wall, panting for breath. The pipe fell from his finger and hit the sidewalk with a dull thump.

He'd had people pissed at him. He'd had people after him before.

He'd never been hunted like this.

Think. He had to think. Jon cracked open his water and took a sip. Okay, he had a pack of smokes and twelve bucks. He'd started out with less. There was a lot a guy like him could do with twelve bucks.


	4. Chapter 4

TITLE: Through the Alleys  
AUTHOR: Simply_Cath  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own anyone involved, not making a profit. Names trademarked to WWE, guys own themselves obviously.  
DISTRIBUTION: Get my permission first  
RATING: T  
CONTENT: Violence, bad language, lots of bad language.  
SPOILERS: None  
SUMMARY: Moxley's had people pissed at him. He's had people after him. He's never been hunted like this.  
NOTES: An idea that's been kicking around for a while.

"Are you okay, Mister?"

Jon yelped a curse and whirled around, wide eyed and ready to fight. Guys like him didn't get called 'Mister.' A kid was looking at him, probably a little young to be out this late, but who the hell was he to judge? "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He licked his lips. "You gotta light?"

"Yeah." The kid pulled a lighter out.

Jon wiped his hands on his pants and pulled out the cigarettes, tearing open the package with practiced ease. He withdrew a thin white stick and held it between his fingers. The second it was lit, he took a deep drag, letting the nicotine work its magic. "Cool."

The kid gave him a funny look. "Aren't you-?"

"No," Jon shook his head. "I'm not." He took off across the street. He made his way to some kind of office building. There was probably some idiot working late whose car he could jack. There was a lot of lights, but they didn't seem so loud now. Everything seemed muted. God, he was tired.

He leaned against a street lamp, closing his eyes as he finished off the smoke. It took every bit of his willpower to open his eyes.

The tall guy was two feet away from him.

"No," he murmured. "Leave me alone."

The dude held something out. "Put this on."

It was the hoodie. "No."

"It's freezing out here, you idiot."

"Listen, asshole, you can take that hoodie and stuff that right up your-" A harsh blast of wind asasulted the street, kicking up bits of trash and snow. Grumbling under his breath, Moxley slid his arms into the sleeves and zipped it up as high as it would go. "If you think for one second that I'm gonna say thank you, you've got another thing coming. I wouldn't even be out here in this if it wasn't for you."

"That's yours, you know."

Jon cocked his head, as though he didn't understand the language. "What? No. I've never-"

"Roll up the right cuff."

Dazed, Jon dropped the butt and stomped it out. As if of their own volition, his fingers curled around the hem and flipped it over. "What are you-?" He squinted. Among the black material, barely visible, he spotted three, one inch tall letters. 'Mox.' "The hell?"

"You put it on there so you'd always remember where you came from."

Jon swallowed hard. He looked up at the guy and started to speak. His vision started to grey out; it was like looking through the end of a long tunnel. The pounding in his head suddenly hit a crescendo. His legs were turning to rubber. And yet, for the first time tonight, something became clear. The black hair and dark eyes locked into place.

"Roman?"


	5. Epilogue

TITLE: Through the Alleys  
AUTHOR: Simply_Cath  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own anyone involved, not making a profit. Names trademarked to WWE, guys own themselves obviously.  
DISTRIBUTION: Get my permission first  
RATING: T  
CONTENT: Violence, bad language, lots of bad language.  
SPOILERS: None  
SUMMARY: Moxley's had people pissed at him. He's had people after him. He's never been hunted like this.  
NOTES: An idea that's been kicking around for a while.

Wherever it was, at least he was warm. Dean sighed and shifted, trying to take in his surroundings. Crappy, stiff bed, shitty excuse for a pillow, antiseptic smell and beeping monitors. Ugh.

"You're up." It wasn't a question.

There was movement in the room. A few seconds later, it seemed much darker.

Opening his eyes slowly, Dean waited for his vision to focus. Roman had shut the curtains and turned off the lights. He looked around. Private room. Not bad. He started to speak, only to gag at the dryness in his mouth. Roman offered him a couple of ice chips. Dean swirled them around his mouth until they melted. "What's going on, Roman?"

"So you know who I am?"

Ambrose blinked. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You sure as hell didn't last night."

"I didn't?" Dean squinted. Roman was still in his ring gear. "What happened?"

"What happened is that Dean Ambrose can't get a concussion like normal people. When Dean Ambrose gets a concussion he has to go into some kind of CZW flashback and go on a rampage in twenty degree weather."

"Rampage?" Dean echoed.

Roman held up a hand and began ticking items off. "First, you scared the shit outta Stephanie McMahon by bolting up outta the blue. Then you decked Hunter. And that was before busting out of the arena."

Dean blinked owlishly.

Roman carried on. "Seth and I took off after you because we figured, hey, we'd be the best guys to calm you down, right? You suckerpunched him and bit me." He held up his forearm, showing off a small white bandage. "And that was after calling me... what was it you called me?"

Ambrose looked anywhere but at Roman.

"A tatted up twat," a third voice chimed in from the doorway.

Dean looked over at Seth. His black cargo pants were part of his gear, but the bright blue hospital shirt he wore sure wasn't. "Nice shirt. You raid a nurse's station for that?"

"Oh yeah." Seth pulled the bottom of the shirt up. His ribcage was covered in white bandages. "Goes great with the three broken ribs."

"Oh."

"You swing a mean pipe, Ambrose."

Dean looked down at his hands, fussing with the blanket that obscured his legs. "Guys, I-"

"Shut up, Dean. It's fine." Seth pulled up a chair on Dean's other side, across from Roman. He dropped into it with a soft hiss. "But trust me, next time we have a miscommunication spot in a match, I'll be sure to remember this."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Ambrose squirmed. "Docs say when I'll be outta here?"

"You're gonna get a few more tests this morning. You were a little uncooperative last night." Roman arched an eyebrow.

Dean started to speak, only to wind up yawning.

"Get some rest, man."

"'kay," Dean murmured. He tried his best to stay awake for a little while longer, but soon found himself lulled to sleep by the voices of his teammates.

THE END


End file.
